


Cowboys and Pilots Against Blue Matter

by Airheart



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airheart/pseuds/Airheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Blue Matter meddles where it shouldn't, a cowboy who isn't actually a cowboy finds an unlikely friend, and a pilot out of her element tries to find a way home. (currently undergoing a complete revamp)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter rewritten! idk what i was trying to do with that, so i redid and hopefully its better

_“Famous woman pilot Lily “Airheart” Brennen has not been seen or heard from since she left for a leisure flight near the Rocky Mountains on the seventeenth of July…”_

_“...suspected crash…”_

_“‘...remarkably similar to the disappearance of B-17 pilot Jimmy Wright in 1942,’ says an anonymous spectator...”_

_“...fueled by her obsession with her late fiance Jimmy Wright? She was never the same after he disappeared, was she, Dave…”_

_“...the mystery of missing pilot Lily “Airheart” Brennen was seemingly solved last Friday when hikers in the Rocky Mountains found the wreckage of her trademark blue, single-engine airplane…”_

_“No body has been found…”_

_“...no way she could survive out there,’ says Abbott."_

_“Investigators have been forced to close the case after seven months. “Brennen’s body still has not been recovered and likely never will,” says lead investigator Lawrence Walker. “Accidents happen. It’s sad, but there’s really nothing we can do.”_


	2. Chapter 2

Dirt.

That was the first thing she noticed. Dirt against her cheek, under her hands and scratching her legs. She had never liked dirt very much, and tended to avoid it...why was she laying in it now? For a moment, she tried to think of a reason that she would be wallowing in a bunch of dirt, but the effort only made her head hurt. It didn’t make sense, but she would rather lie there than suffer another splitting headache.

She lay still for a while, as her mind cleared. Soon she became fully aware of the stifling, dry heat surrounding her—desert heat. She remembered the feeling from when she and Jimmy visited the Mojave Desert for her twenty-third birthday. Why would she be in the desert, though? Nothing was making any sense.

Eventually she found that she could, in fact, open her eyes. She did, blinking several times as she tried to focus...and realized that she was staring right at an enormous scorpion.

She screamed, and sat up fast. Her parched throat ached from the effort of making sound. The scorpion scuttled away, and Airheart clutched her head. Her headache was back.

For a moment, she sat there, holding her head and squeezing her eyes shut. Somewhere, an owl hooted and a cricket chirped. Those were familiar noises, but they didn’t make her feel any better. She really wanted to go to sleep and then, if possible, wake up from whatever bad dream she was having.

    After a while, she had almost convinced herself that she was dreaming, but something crawling across her leg dashed that idea against the metaphorical rocks. She didn’t scream this time, just gave her leg a frenzied shake and scrambled to her feet. The sudden movement made her head throb and she staggered, vision swimming. She was disoriented, overheated—she would start stripping gears soon if she wasn’t careful. As soon as that thought entered her mind, Airheart went into recovery mode.

    She had drilled the process all her life, with her father and then Jimmy. _Deep breaths, calm down, you need to cool off…_ She pulled off her flight jacket and dropped it on the ground. _Get your air circulating._ Airheart spread her arms and straightened her back, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Her rudder shifted slightly, and she felt a little better. The grinding between her shoulders quieted, but a heavy feeling persisted.

    As her vision cleared, she gathered information as quickly as she could—the sun was in the east, and a saguaro cactus stood tall a few yards to her right. _Good morning, Sonoran._ She looked to the sky, but the stars were too faded to glean anything from. Airheart took a deep breath through her nose and held it as she turned slowly on the spot, surveying the landscape for more clues. No buildings, but… She exhaled through pursed lips and squinted to the west.

    It was a fire! A small, contained fire—a man-made fire. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards away, and she was certain that that was a horse standing by it. _Why didn’t I notice that before!_ Airheart berated herself silently as she started towards it, dirt crunching beneath her boots with each step.

    The horse noticed her when she got close, and it snorted. She paused mid-step. They regarded each other silently for a few seconds, then the horse bobbed its head and looked at the man on the ground, almost as though to point him out to her. Airheart smiled at it, then peered at the sleeping man.

    He lounged on the ground with easy grace, head propped against the horse’s saddle and his hat covering his face. Without being able to see his face, Airheart could only describe him as long, lanky and dusty—very dusty. His leather chaps were well-worn and dusty, his boots were scuffed and dusty… Airheart leaned over him, trying to think of a course of action to take. The horse snorted at her again.

    “What?” she whispered fiercely. “Have _you_ got any ideas?” The horse stared at her with big brown eyes. Of course it didn’t have any ideas. It probably didn’t even know what she was saying. It bobbed its head, tossing the reins of its halter, then pointed its nose at the cowboy again. “I see him, you know.” Airheart straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “Quit bugging me and let me think.” The horse only tossed its head again. “Oh, for Lord’s sake!” She stepped over the cowboy and grabbed the horse’s lead, keeping it from bobbing again. She frowned at it. “What is with you?”

    “He doesn’t much like strangers,” drawled a deep voice. Airheart nearly jumped out of her skin, and immediately dropped the lead. She turned quickly. The cowboy hadn’t moved, but he sure as hell had spoken.

    “Excuse me?” she said.

    “I said, he doesn’t much like strangers.” The cowboy sat up and let his hat fall off his face into his hands. He put it back on properly, and looked up at Airheart. She put her hands on her hips, and whatever clever remark he had prepared died on his lips as he looked at her. His expression turned from one of mild amusement to confusion.

    “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Airheart said. The cowboy just kept staring at her, his mouth slightly agape. She frowned. “Well, what’s your name?”

    “Oh,” the cowboy said quickly. He got to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants, then extended his hand. “Name’s Rex Marksley.” Airheart regarded him silently, just like she did with annoying reporters. She had loads of practice with that silent glare; she would wait just long enough to make them feel stupid, and then sigh like shaking their hand was a huge inconvenience.

    But before the proper amount of time had passed, Rex lowered his hand and looked around in alarm. Then he snapped into action, grabbing the saddle off of the ground and heaving it onto the horse’s back.

    “Hey, where’s the fire?!” Airheart asked, as Rex strapped the saddle into place.

    “Have you got a horse?”

    “Of course not!”

     “Then saddle up, ma’am.” He gestured to the horse, and Airheart stared at him incredulously.

“I’m not getting on that thing!”

“Thing!” Rex drew himself up to his full height in indignance. “This _thing_ , ma’am, is a buckskin gelding of the finest breeding! He’s a bang-up steed and I paid good money for him!”

“I don’t even know what you’re wigging out about—hey!”

    “Sorry about this, ma’am!” He picked her up and practically tossed her into the saddle, then swung up in front of her and spurred the horse into a gallop. Much to her chagrin, Airheart was forced to put her arms around his waist to keep from falling off as she jostled in the saddle. She held on tightly, pressing her face against the cowboy’s back—she didn’t want to see where they were going, or where they’d been. The dusty smell of horses and leather filled her nose.

    They rode fast and hard. The only sounds were the rushing wind and the pounding of the horse’s hooves against the hard desert ground. Occasionally, Airheart heard the jingling of Rex’s spurs as he urged his steed onward.

    Soon the air was even hotter and drier than it had been when she had awoken—the sun was up, baking the terrain with its rays. It wasn’t long after this that Rex reined his horse in, slowing it to an easy walk.

    “You alright back there, ma’am?” he asked. Airheart lifted her head. Rex was watching her over his shoulder.

    “I’m fine,” she said. Then, in a harder voice— “What was that ruckus back there? You some kind of chiseler?”

    “Chiseler?”

    “A cheater, you know. Swindler. Are you a criminal?”

    “I ain’t a lawless man!” He sounded highly offended.

    “Then why’d you wail out of there like you were being hunted?”

    “Didn’t you hear them comin’?”

    “Obviously I didn’t.” Airheart was starting to get annoyed, and hot. She pushed her jacket sleeves back.

    “There’s bandits in these parts,” Rex said, “and I’m almost out of bullets.” He glanced at her again. “And they’d take a real shinin’ to you, ma’am.” It wasn’t hard to read between the lines, but Airheart couldn’t bring herself to thank him. She wasn’t good at showing gratitude. Rex didn’t press her for an answer, though, and changed the subject. “What’s your name, anyhow?”

    “Airheart.”

    “Never heard a name like that.”

    “It’s a nickname.”

    “Right strange nickname. What, your daddy fly a dirigible or somethin’?” Airheart laughed.

    “Real pilots don’t fly dirigibles, mister,” she said. “My daddy flew a Curtiss Model R plane, my mother. She went out of commission when I was six years old; Dad kept her in the barn after that. Then he taught me to fly in a Curtiss Hawk when I was 12, and—”

    “Whoa there, ma’am,” Rex interrupted. “You’re talkin’ crazy now.”

    “Crazy?” Airheart drew herself up indignantly. “I’m not crazy, everyone knows the Curtiss company! Well, Curtiss-Wright now, but—”

    “Ma’am, I’m gonna stop you there and tell you that I haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Rex glanced over his shoulder again. “Are you feelin’ okay? Dizzy? Light-headed?” Airheart was starting to get annoyed.

    “You’re the one who’s crazy! What kind of person hasn’t ever heard of the Curtiss-Wright airplane company, you nosebleed?! Where are you from?”

    “Texas,” said Rex “Where are _you_ from?”

    “North Carolina,” said Airheart. “Kitty Hawk. You know, home of the first successful airplane flight?” Rex shook his head. “Come on! Orville and Wilbur Wright! December seventeenth, 1903. What, have you been living under a _rock_?!”

    “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rex interjected. “1903? Ma’am, I think you’re suffering from heatstroke. I ain’t surprised, what with that big jacket of yours. We better stop.”

    “I am not!” Airheart couldn’t help but slap his shoulder in frustration. “My daddy was a pilot, one of the best—I know airplanes like the back of my own hand! History included!” The cowboy brought his horse to a halt and turned in the saddle to look at her.

    “Look, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re yakkin’ about, but there ain’t no 1903. Not yet, at least.”

    “What are you getting at?” Airheart asked, hoping he wasn’t going to say what she thought he was going to say…

    “S’far as I know, it’s still August of 1872.”


	3. Chapter 3

    The next thing she knew, Airheart was lying on the ground. Her face was cast into shadow by Rex, who was down on one knee beside her. He tipped his hat to her.

    “You fell off the horse, ma’am,” he said simply.

    “I figured,” she said. She started to sit up, but stopped with a groan as her head throbbed with pain. The cowboy put his hand on her shoulder, and held out a canteen.

    “Have a drink.” He watched her carefully as she did, not saying anything except to gently remind her not to chug it. Airheart was grateful for the water—it was lukewarm and she thought she tasted a bit of sand in it, but it was still water and she felt much better afterwards.

    “Thank you,” she said. She capped the canteen, and handed it back. He watched her for a few moments as she clutched at her head and muttered under her breath. Then he clasped her shoulder.

“I think you’d better hash this whole thing out for me because I’m stumped. I’ve ridden ‘cross this great country, been to every state twice, and still ain’t never met someone the likes of you.”

    “Most people haven’t,” Airheart said faintly. She rubbed her forehead. “I’ve always been out of place…” Rex sat down in the dirt, and patted the ground beside him, looking expectantly up at her. He looked so genuinely curious that Airheart felt that it would be unduly mean to refuse him, so she sat down next to him and rested her chin on her knees. The horse snorted and bobbed its head.

    “I don’t know what’s happening either,” she mumbled. “I was just...flying in the Rockies. There was a flash of light, and then I woke up here.”

    “That’s it?”

    “That’s it.”

    “Dang.” Rex sniffed and rubbed his nose with one gloved hand. “I was expectin’ some kind of...I dunno, some crazy tale with magic and gypsies and such.”

    “Sorry to disappoint.” Rex was quiet for a moment. Then he dug in his shirt pocket and took out a small tin. Airheart looked at it and wrinkled her nose as he took out a pinch of something and put it in his mouth.

    “Where you from, anyway?” he asked.

    “I told you,” said Airheart. “Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.”

    “Yeah, but what…” Rex waved his hand. “Year?”

    “Oh. 1957.”

    “And you’re lookin’ to get back?”

    “Yeah.” Airheart straightened up. “Can you help me?”

    “Nope.”

    Airheart punched him on the shoulder. He yelped, and looked at her with a mix of shock and indignation on his face. She glared right back, and her momentarily good mood was effectively ruined.

    “You know, a lesser man would hit you back,” he said. He stood up, dusting off the seat of his pants. “But I ain’t a lesser man, and I’d never hit a lady.”

    “Oh yeah?” Airheart scrambled to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “What makes you so great?”

    “Lots of things, ma’am,” said Rex. He checked the straps on his saddle, tightened a few, and turned back to Airheart. “Now, we best get a move on. There’s a town about a day’s ride thataways—” He pointed to the northwest— “And as I’m runnin’ a bit low on supplies, I’d like to see if we can’t get there before night falls too far.”

    “What if we can’t?” Airheart asked. She suddenly regretted taking such a big gulp of water.

    “We ain’t gonna die out here, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” said Rex. He grinned at her. “We’ll just be mighty thirsty till we reach High Springs.”

 

* * *

 

 

    When they set off again, Airheart had thought that it couldn’t get any hotter, and that the sun couldn’t get any brighter.

    She was wrong.

    Sweat dripped down the side of her face, and she wiped it away for the countless time. Her throat was dry and her head hurt, but she didn’t ask Rex for more water. He hadn’t taken a single drink, and she didn’t want to be the one to dry up their supply. She sat there in silence, wincing as her inner thighs rubbed against the hard leather saddle. The skin was rubbed raw, she was sure of it, and she wouldn't be surprised if she left streaks of blood behind.

Rex was relatively quiet. Sometimes he leaned over and spit on the ground, but otherwise Airheart could stare at the back of his head without interruption. It wasn't very entertaining; she could tell that his thick black hair was in need of a wash and trim, but there wasn't much else to see. Her motion was limited—she had figured out a way to cling to Rex in order to keep from falling off, but still keep minimum contact between her chest and his back. It was uncomfortable, and Airheart's back was stiff, but she would rather not be pressed against him for hours on end, especially in the heat.

Finally, Rex spoke. A short “Whoa” to his horse and a gentle tug on the reins brought them to a halt, and then he looked over his shoulder at Airheart. “You ever ride a horse before?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “Only ponies at the state fair, really.” Rex snorted.

“Those ain’t horses. Mighty fine pack animals, and kids sure like ‘em, but they ain’t horses.” He dismounted (a bit awkwardly, so that he wouldn’t hit Airheart or the horse), and patted the seat of the saddle. “You go ahead and sit here for a while. He doesn’t like carrying two people for too long.” Airheart shook her head.

“I don’t know how to steer this thing,” she said. “You ride, I’ll walk.”

“A gentleman would never make a lady walk in the desert,” said Rex. “And this “thing”’s name is Ghost, ma’am, I’d ‘preciate it if you respected that.”

“Okay, Ghost then. I still don’t know how to ride.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll keep a hold on the reins here. You just sit there and look pretty.” Airheart crossed her arms. Rex watched her for a minute, then patted the seat of the saddle again. “It’d be a lot more comfortable if you sat here.”

Airheart hesitated. She didn’t want to move and chafe her thighs more, but she also didn’t want to continue sitting on the edge of the saddle. Eventually, the latter desire prevailed, and she shifted to the seat, wincing the whole way. Rex definitely noticed, and raised his eyebrows.

“You got anything under that dress?” he asked. Airheart shook her head, then glared at him.

“Well I’m wearing underwear, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “Don’t get any ideas, cowboy.”

“I wasn’t thinkin’ anything wrong!” Rex exclaimed. “I was just worryin’ about you, but if that’s not welcome, then forget it.”

“Fine.” Airheart crossed her arms. Rex gathered the reins and urged Ghost into a walk again, and the next hour of travel was silent save for the sound of hooves on hard dirt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bear with me on the short chapters guys, im getting the story on track trust me orz

They didn’t stop again until Airheart’s stomach started to growl and Rex loudly proclaimed that it was time for lunch. Of course, “lunch” consisted of a rather dried-up biscuit and a piece of beef jerky. Normally, Airheart would have wrinkled her nose at the food, but she was so hungry in that moment that she didn't care. She only grimaced when Rex sat down in the shade of a large cactus and asked her to join him—she didn’t particularly want to move.  
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Too good to sit in the dirt now?”  
“No,” Airheart said. “I’m not that square.” Rex took a bite of his biscuit, and raised his eyebrows.  
“Dunno what shapes have to do with it.”  
“It’s not—nevermind.” She looked at the biscuit in Rex’s other hand. “Can I have that, please?”  
“You have to come down here and get it,” said Rex. She glared at him, and he smiled back. His smile was so genuine that for a moment, Airheart wondered if he was really being sincere and that’s just how things worked nowadays. But there was a twinkle in his eye that told her otherwise.  
She fully intended to be stubborn and stay on the horse, but her stomach gurgled again and her resolve crumbled. Forget her legs—she wanted that biscuit. She clenched her teeth and swung one leg over, then carefully slid out of the saddle until her feet almost touched the ground… Rex watched her all the while, his expression nigh unreadable. Airheart made it to the ground without any casualties, but her legs burned and stung. She winced with every step.  
“You alright, ma'am?" he asked.  
“I’m fine,” Airheart snapped. She kicked a rock aside and plopped down in the dirt beside Rex. For a few seconds, she shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position before giving up and pulling her knees to her chest.  
“We ought to get you some wool stockings," said Rex. He passed her the biscuit. "You'll get sores and the sores'll get infected if you're not careful." Airheart just grumbled and bit into the biscuit, but she knew that the cowboy was right. Her thighs hurt, and she would welcome the chance to put anything between her and the hard leather saddle.  
She finished her biscuit in just a few bites, and then both of them sat in silence for a while, gnawing on tough, salty jerky. It actually wasn’t that much different than the provisions she had always packed in her plane—not that those had tasted any better, but at least it was familiar. It reminded her of cross country flights in Jimmy’s bush plane, when they would land in undeveloped prairies or canyons and revel in the peaceful silence, even if they were only there for the night. Her throat tightened.  
“It’s likely we’ll be in High Springs by sundown,” Rex said finally. “We can get a proper meal at the saloon.”  
“Do you have money?” Airheart asked. Rex laughed, like she had said something funny.  
“Of course I’ve got money. Who do you think I am?”  
“A cowboy? They don’t make much, do they?”  
“I never said I was a cowboy. You just assumed that.” Airheart frowned.  
“Well, then, what are you?”  
“I’m all sorts of things, but a cowboy ain’t one,” said Rex. He stood up and pulled a pistol out of a holster on his hip. “I’m a marksman, for starters. Sometimes folks pay me to make appearances at carnivals or the like, do a few fancy tricks for the kids. Sometimes they hire me for security when they’re travelin’ or feelin’ paranoid ‘cause they made someone mad.” He spun the pistol on his finger, just like in the movies, and put it back in its holster. “That’s where most of my money comes from.”  
“And that’s all you do?” Airheart asked, getting to her feet and brushing dirt off her dress. Rex shrugged.  
“Well, I’m an inventor too. That doesn’t really pay, though.” He checked the straps again, then gestured to the saddle and said, “Let’s get a move on,” and then the conversation was done.

* * *

  
They didn’t talk much for the next couple of hours. Airheart dozed off several times, but always awoke with a start and a wince as her legs jostled particularly painfully against the saddle. She really hoped that the sores wouldn’t get infected. Medicine wasn’t exactly good in the nineteenth century, but Rex assured her that she would be fine.  
“You can have a bath in town, get all the dirt off,” he said. “Then we’ll find you proper ridin’ clothes and you won’t have to worry.” After that, though, he was mostly silent. Sometimes he would take out the canteen, take a sip, and then offer it to Airheart without a word. It tasted sandier than before, but she was parched and didn’t complain.  
As predicted, the sun had just touched the horizon when the town of High Springs came into view. Airheart felt a rush of excitement, relief and anxiety, all at once. There she was, riding towards a _real_ Old West town, not a theme park like the one in Alexandria Bay. The people here had no idea what a plane was. It was really starting to dawn on her that she was completely out of her element. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.  
“Let me do the talkin’, ma’am,” Rex said, as they passed a sign that said “High Springs” in faded letters. “You’ll likely frighten the folks here.”  
“What’s the story, morning glory?” Airheart asked indignantly. Rex looked up at her, his eyebrows knit. “I mean—what do you mean by that?”  
“That’s what I mean. You got a mighty strange way of talkin’.”  
“What the hell are you—”  
“And that. Women ‘round these parts don’t talk like that,” Rex said. “Least, not any respectable women.”  
“Are you calling me a tramp?” Airheart demanded.  
“A tr—no, ma’am, I ain’t callin’ you a tramp!” Rex lowered his voice as they passed the first building; a post office. “Let’s not cause any trouble here, ma’am, just let me do all the talkin’. I’ve got the money in any case.”  
“Fine,” Airheart said. “Just get me some real food, okay?”  
“Dunno what you consider real, ma’am.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont forget to read the first chapter again if u didnt catch the rewrite uvu

It wasn't very hard for Airheart to keep her promise. Nobody gave her a second glance when they realized who she was with—Rex had barely set foot inside the town's only restaurant before someone recognized him and swooped in, yammering about what an honor it is to meet you, Mr. Marksley, I saw you at some forgettable county fair, blah blah blah. Rex was polite enough, nodding and smiling, but Airheart was starving and losing patience fast. She noticed a few other patrons pointing at Rex, whispering excitedly, obviously planning to accost him and tell him the same thing repeatedly. Airheart frowned, and tugged on Rex's sleeve.

"Excuse me for a minute," Rex said with another placating smile. He turned to Airheart, careful to obstruct the patron's view, and asked in a whisper, "Somethin' the matter?"

"Can I get something to eat before you get too occupied with your fanclub? I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

"Don't you dare!" Rex said, and Airheart laughed whether it was supposed to be a joke or not.

"Just get me dinner and I'll be out of your hair."

"Alright," said Rex. He fished a worn out wallet out of his pocket and handed it to her. She raised her eyebrows.

“You’re just going to give me your wallet? How do you know I won’t tap you?”

“I don’t get your meanin’, ma’am.”

“I could just take your money and leave.” Rex chuckled and shook his head.

“And go where? Ain’t nothin’ out there but desert,” he said. "Just get yourself a proper meal and sit tight. I'll finagle my way out before they try to full-on interview me." He winked at her, then turned back to the now-group of excited restaurant goers.

The waitress who came to serve Airheart was tired and looked dead on her feet, and she didn't look twice at Airheart's dusty flight jacket. She did wrinkle her nose though, and made a point of informing Airheart that the hotel would draw a hot bath for her, for an extra twenty-five cents.

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." Airheart smiled the same smile she gave news reporters, then peered at a menu. "The chicken fried steak sounds good."

"It'll be a few minutes," the waitress said. "Would you like anythin' to drink?"

"I don't suppose you serve petrol," Airheart said. She laughed at her own joke, but the waitress's blank stare stifled her laughter quickly and she cleared her throat. "Uh, just water is fine, thank you." The waitress walked away without another word, and Airheart hid her face in her hands. _That wouldn’t have been a funny joke even back home_ , she thought. Not that she had ever been very good at making jokes. At least, not on purpose—Jimmy had once told her that she had great wit, but a terrible sense of humor. She sighed into her hands.

The waitress returned and unceremoniously plunked a glass of water on the table, and walked away again before Airheart could so much as thank her. It was nice to know that rude servers transcended time. She sipped the water as daintily as she could, trying to look inconspicuous and normal.

Over by the door, Rex was wrapping up, shaking everyone’s hand one more time before saying something about supper and “a proper bed”, and striding over to the table where Airheart sat.

“Still breathin’?” he asked. Airheart shrugged.

“More or less. Does that sort of thing happen a lot?”

“In smaller towns,” Rex said. “If anyone recognizes me at all. In big towns and cities, they’ve got the good graces to leave me be for the most part.”

“At least you’ve got that,” said Airheart. “People stare at me wherever I go.”

“Why’s that, ma’am?”

“I—” Airheart stopped as the waitress shuffled back over with another glass of water for Rex and a plate of food for Airheart.

“Anything for you, sir?” she asked in the same bored voice.

“Same as the lady, thank you,” Rex said. “Now what were you sayin’?” Out of the corner of her eye, Airheart watched the waitress until she was just out of earshot.

“I’ll...tell you later,” she said, without any real intention behind her words. “I’m starving right now.” She picked up her fork and knife, hoping to signal an end to the conversation. Rex watched her for a moment, but he took the hint and didn’t pursue the matter.

Dinner passed with little conversation. As Rex paid for the meal, he asked Airheart if she had enjoyed it, to which she responded with a noncommittal shrug.

“It’s food,” she said, as they left the restaurant and headed to the hotel. She pursed her lips for a moment as her legs chafed and a twinge of pain made her eyes water.“And it was hot. I’m not _that_ picky.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Rex. He held the door open for her, then followed her into the lobby and went up to the desk. The clerk looked a little more perky than the waitress, but he was probably putting on a show. He smiled at Rex.

“Good evening, sir. Checking in?”

“Yessir, one room for the night, and a couple of baths for the mornin’.”

While they went through the check-in procedure, Airheart wandered over to a bulletin board hanging on the wall. A hand-printed flyer advertised a sale at the general store—old merchandise was half price, to make room for new goods—, someone was hosting a dance, and a young lady named Florence Wilkinson was missing. The photo pasted on the flyer was fuzzy and discolored (Airheart later realized that it was typical of the time), but she could still make out the girl's big eyes and small, pointed nose, giving her the look of a mouse. Airheart would have been amused if Florence hadn't been missing. It hit close to home, and she silently wished for Florence’s family and friends to find closure.

"...that'll be two dollars for the room and the baths, Mr. Marksley." Airheart’s jaw dropped, and she spun on her heel.

“Murder!” she exclaimed. Rex dropped his wallet and grabbed his guns in a flash.

“Where?!” he asked, looking around frantically. Airheart shook her head.

“No, not—not literally,” she said. “It’s an expression. Is it really only two bucks for a hotel room here?”

“Don’t scare me like that, ma’am,” Rex said sternly. He holstered his guns and retrieved his wallet from the floor. “The room is only a dollar and fifty cents, the baths are a quarter each. How much—” He stopped, glanced at the concierge, then handed over the money without a word. The concierge gave Airheart a strange look as he gave Rex the room number, but Rex whisked her away before he asked any questions.

Their room was on the second floor, and almost at the end of the hall. Rex closed the door carefully behind them, then turned to Airheart.

“How much does a hotel room cost in your time?” he asked.

“The last time I stayed in one, it was about twenty-five dollars for a night.” Rex balked.

“Wh—I’ve seen calves go for less!”

“There’s this little thing called inflation,” Airheart said. “Now, who’s going to sleep on the floor?”

“Sorry?” She pointed at the bed.

“There’s only one. Who’s sleeping on the floor?”

“Oh.” Rex rubbed his nose, then shrugged. “I wouldn’t make a lady sleep on the floor, so you can have the bed, ma’am. I’ll get an extra blanket from housekeeping. Pardon me.” He tipped his hat, then left the room and Airheart smiled.

She draped her flight jacket neatly over the chair in the corner, and put her boots beside it. With Rex gone, she took the opportunity to look at her inner thighs. As she suspected, they were rubbed quite raw, and she would have nasty scabs in the morning. She sighed and wished for a hot, soapy bath to wash away her aches and pains. _Not till morning_ , she reminded herself. With another tired sigh, she climbed into bed.

She was still trying to find a comfortable position when Rex returned, carrying a blanket and pillow. He hung his hat on the door handle, and spread the blanket out beneath the window.

“You alright, ma’am?” he asked.

“I guess,” she said. Lying on her back pressed her rudder into her spine, creating an uncomfortable pressure, and lying on her stomach made her neck hurt. Eventually, she settled for lying on her side with one leg crooked, so as to minimize contact between her thighs. She propped her head on one hand and looked at Rex. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“To be honest, I really don’t know.” Rex sat down on the floor and wrestled his boots off. “I’ve been tryin’ to come up with one but—you’re a strange case, y’know.” He sighed. Airheart watched him for a moment, then lay back.

“Maybe morning will bring some new ideas,” she said. She paused, then said, “Good night, Rex.”

“Good night, ma’am.” Rex blew out the lamp, and the floorboards creaked as he lay down.

A few minutes passed before he spoke again.

“Ma’am?”

“Hm?”

“Are you glowin’?”

Airheart opened her eyes. Her chest was emanating a blue light, projecting onto the opposite wall. She tugged the blanket up to her chin.

“Sorry. I forget about that sometimes.”

“You’re mighty strange, ma’am.” Airheart smiled.

“I know.”


End file.
